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Topic: 12-22-2132 - The Awakening (Read 2288 times)

Temmit jumped up from where had fallen asleep at the table, and fell shaking to the floor. His telling Renee of the day his family died had brought his personal tragedy up in his mind, and it in turn had presented the story to him again in his sleep.

He was crying again, as he always was. He was holding Smokey tightly again, as he always was. Except this time he was shaking on the floor of a hidden bedroom in Lowtown. The lantern still glowed dimly in the subterranean room.

He fought to gain control of himself. ”Your safe.” Smokey said to him. He breathed deeply, trying to focus past the gaping maw that consumed his vision.

Temmit wasn't aware of the exact moment Renee had left her bed, he hadn't heard her draw the longsword from a hidden rail between the cot and the wall, he hadn't seen her jump to his side instinctively to protect him.

All at once Temmit just realized that there his friend was, hugging him tight from behind him, with the sword still held aloft to the right in an instinctive defensive stance.

"Are you okay," she asked with great concern, still not letting him go with her left arm.

Temmit stammered incoherently for a long moment. "Um ok." He managed at last. He breathed deeply again. "It's ok." He said, clearly still panicked.

”Breath.” Smokey said.

“Breath.” Temmit repeated. He followed his own advice and breathed. After a moment his shaking settled to almost a memory. The demon in his mind faded and he could see his surroundings. He recollected where he was, although it took him a little longer to remember *why* he was there.

“It’s ok.” He repeated, this time with a little more conviction. He was still gripping Smokey, and he was also, he realized, gripping Renee’s arm and shoulder. He tried to let go of his friend, but it was difficult. “It’s ok.” He repeated with still more conviction.

It was a few minutes before he could say that and sound like he meant it. “I’m sorry.” He said, struggling back to the chair that he had fallen out of. “I’m sorry. It’s ok.” He breathed again.

Renee looked at him with concern during the entire ordeal, but waited until she believed him before she spoke, which she did very gently.

"For awhile, after the attack on my parents six years ago, I had nightmares as well, but I imagine yours must have a much more frightening ending," her words were realized as she spoke, and wet tears formed in her eyes for him.

Temmit looked at her. The terror was still written clearly in his eyes. He nodded in agreement. “Very likely.” He said. “At the end of mine, I’m staring down the gullet of a Karh’Thul.” He shook at the remembrance, still refreshened in his mind. “Just like when it actually happened.” He looked up at her somewhat pleading. “How long before the nightmares end?” He asked absently.

"When you kill one of them," she said with authority, letting him go but still touching his shoulder for the reassuring contact.

"Listen to me Temmit," she had walked around him and was facing him face to face. All at once Temmit saw his guild leader again, she had been gone most of the previous night, but the sleep must have done her wonders, for here was the strength he knew before him.

"If it is your wish my friend, I can take you directly to one this very night and we can vanquish him," she stated.

Her words sunk in slowly. "Tonight?" He reflected. Never in his wildest thoughts did it ocurr to him that such a thing could be done so swiftly, and the thought tempted him sorely, but the meticulous planner in him spoke out to that plan as folly. Or mis-timed at any rate.

"That is what I've asked of you, eh?" He was regaining his composure quickly now. Repetition had that effect. "But no." He answered. "I had guessed that the killing of one would help, but there's too much to get done this weekend. Others are counting on us, and waiting for us."

He breathed more. "Next week, perhaps, or even next holiday. I should be ok for the next few weeks. I don't get the dream more often than that anymore."

He cast his mind around a moment. "What time is it?" He asked. "I'm so sorry for awakening you."

"NO." Temmit stated a little more forcibly than he intended. "No." He restated, smiling weakly. "Thank you, but I don't sleep that much anyway."

"Plus," a new thought seemed to present itself to him. "We should talk a little about our sir John Athol." He patted the journal. "I've a few insights, but nothing that would change our opinion of last night."

Temmit took the drought, as though he was responding to an order. She was right, of course: he did need it, and it awakened him quickly.

"Well," he began. "I still hold the opinion that we can't trust the man. I think that he's pretty well dedicated to his career, despite his turning an eye to your marketeering."

He gathered his thinking.

"In summary, I think that we need to do a few things, and I think that we should discuss a few things. I think that Kristen is in real danger; we should salt her activities with genuine work for the sake of concealment."

He stopped for a moment, considering his track. Now that he was thinking about work, his mind trapped his dream back in the darkness, and he was as sharp as ever. "Do you want to discuss your relationship with him, and how he's thinking? Or simply move on to the trap that I think he's fallen into?"

"Well," Temmit began cautiously. "Athol does seem to like you quite a bit, but he certainly doesn't love you. I feel sorry for both of you for that." He smiled fleetingly. "I'm afraid that there is no long-term relationship here, but I think that is in your best interests anyway. He doesn’t actually *like* women anyway. He speaks highly of you, but not in an intimate way; only a professional one. He doesn’t speak of you so much as a relationship, but as a conquest.”

“The fact that he has written down all of your transgressions speaks to my mistrust of him. Now, writing them down as he did, and defending your actions as virtuous, makes him either incredibly stupid, or smarter than I would like.” He looked up at Renee then. “He’s not incredibly stupid.” He said pointedly.

“If I was a prosecutor reading this, or more precisely a defender, I might contend that he was ensnared by you, and thus persuaded to allow your criminal activities. In this way, you might be prosecuted and he himself excused. He took notes on your criminal activity with the intent of turning you in one day, but he was simultaneously beguiled by you. He no doubt told himself throughout this time that he was simply gathering a large enough case against you to be insurmountable. This is conjecture, mind you.”

“However, I think that he’s been trapped, and will soon give you up to save himself. I see here that he was put in charge of digging to the bottom of the Black Marketeering, and he failed. Although he failed, he got a ‘thank you’ and was returned to his post. His efforts called a success. But there weren’t a success, were they? So why was he thanked for his fruitless efforts?”

He was in full narration now, and didn’t stop to consider that Renee’s feelings might be strained. “Imagine that his higher-ups suspected him of harboring a Black Marketeer? Suppose that they had read this journal a couple of months ago. Suppose that they gave him that assignment *just to see* if he gave you up? And he didn’t.” He allowed a few heartbeats for this thought to sink into Renee. “So now I think that he might be in a predicament.”

“I also ask myself why he didn’t give you up. It could be out of affection, but honestly, I don’t think that the man is truly affectionate to any but himself. It could also be because he is waiting for you to lead him to a bigger catch. One that will allow him to realize his dreams: Semi-retirement in his own house near the capital. What that might be, I can’t say. Black Market ring leaders? He is not as yet aware of Whisper, perse. But he might be aware of *something*.”

“There is something afoot, Renee. The guard’s efforts on the ‘Black Marketing’ has eased off, but I fear that it is the calm before the storm, and I think that Mr. Athol will find himself in trouble and in need of a scapegoat. That scapegoat will be you, most likely, and Kristen possibly.”

He let that settle upon the table for a little while. “I’ll want to re-read this journal tonight, if that’s all right. Or this afternoon. I’ll get it back to you so that you can return it, but that’s where I stand this morning.”

Renee had listened to him throughout his diatribe of the Captain with a soft, but expressionless face. As Temmit finished she drew in a broken breathe that spoke volumes to the weight of the guilt she carried.

She stood up, still in her nightshirt and walked toward the cot, away from him for a moment. Temmit sensed she was trying with all her resolve not to cry.

She failed.

Putting her face in her hands she sobbed heavily, still standing away from him.

Temmit watched, not knowing what he should do. I was sure that there was a "right" thing, but what that might be escaped him. "I'm sorry, Renee." He said stupidly. He wondered if he had confirmed what she already knew - after all, she had read the journal the same as he had - or did he see something that she had not.

He poured a little more of her alchololic coffee drink and sidled up behind her, handing her the cup.